


Afraid of the dark

by CastielsCarma



Series: Destiel FanFiction Bingo 2018 [8]
Category: Lucifer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean Winchester, who has stopped Apocalypses and killed hundreds of monsters and demons is afraid of the dark. After months of not being able to sleep properly, he finally decides to heed Sam's advice and talk to a professional.





	Afraid of the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags!
> 
> This is my 8th piece for the Destiel Fanficiton Bingo prompt. The prompt was Scared of the dark - fic. If I forgot any tags just let me know. I hope you enjoy! And a big thank you to those who read every (!) story I write and leave kudos; I see you <3
> 
> Art made by the lovely Jaliee_Holmes Thank you!

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=1zy80tt)  
.

Dean remembered when he had uttered those words to Sammy, _You_ should _be afraid of the dark, you know what's out there,_ in what felt like not one, not two but thousands of lifetimes ago. Sometimes he wondered if his life after twenty-something hadn't been one massive hallucination.

Glancing at the walls around him, he wondered if he wasn't hallucinating right now. The wallpapers were a disgusting shade of yellow like someone had decided to take piss yellow and mix if with a slightly darker shade of barf. The rest seemed decent enough, some chairs that needed better upholstery, a square table peppered with magazines and up in the corners of the room the only thing that didn't seem dilapidated, white small speakers that filled the room with tunes that were supposed to be soothing. Dean thought that the sounds of Metallica would serve that purpose better. If the inside of the room was anything to judge by how the outside looked like, he was well and truly fucked.

The door opened and a petite women invited him in. Dr. Linda Martin looked nothing like he had imagined her. His thoughts had wandered more to a shriveled old prune with gray hair, thick black glasses, and a dusty coat. Linda had the thick glasses but everything else spoke of youth and exuberance, from her smile and how she had her blonde hair up down to the light pink costume and black shoes with a considerable heel for being a therapist or whatever her title was.

“Like what you see?” Her voice, with a lilt that pegged her as not from the state, was slightly amused.

Dean cleared his throat. “Sorry about that, you were not what I expected.”

As she motioned him to sit down in a leather chair that was really soft, she sat down, facing him. He noticed that she had declined to sit at the birch table and instead chosen a smaller chair, closer to him. The room was painted in a soft blue color, with some cabinets, also in birch. Some blob of a painting was up on one wall, and an array of green plants were crowding together in two corners of the room. One wall was occupied by a large laydown couch. That comforted him somewhat. At least one item in the room had the label shrink on it.

Just seconds after sitting down, the back of his neck prickled. Getting up he addressed her. “Do you mind, Dr. Martin?” As she shook her head no, Dean grabbed the chair and turned it slightly, then proceeded to drag it across the floor until he was satisfied. Dr. Martin didn't comment, just observed him, but he still felt like he owed her an explanation. “I don't like to have my back against doors. Occupational habit, you could say.”

She nodded slightly and pulled out a discreet notepad and paper. “Is it okay if I take notes? Just in case you decide to do more sessions?”

“Sure.” Dean didn't know if there would be any more sessions after this but if it helped her feel more in shrink-mood then why not. Let her do the scribbles and play doctor and he would play the patient.

“So before we begin I wonder if you've had any experience with therapy or if you've visited a psychologist before?”

Dean was silent for a moment, his right foot tapping on the floor before he realized what he was doing and willed it to stop. “So, how secret is this shit? Sorry, stuff. I can tell you anything and you won't report it to anyone?”

“I will not breach your confidence, Dean. The things you say to me will stay within these four walls. The only time I have to report what you say is if I have proof that you will harm yourself or if you have concrete plans to do something that is considered illegal.”

Nodding, Dean exhaled and crossed his ankles in front of him. “I might use some curse words.”

A smile played on the doctor's lips. “That is alright. Begin when you are ready.”

“I've had therapy once. It was an act, cause we were on a case, my brother Sam and my son Jack. Anyways I was in a really fucked up head space, so I guess I wasn't ready for what the good ol' doctor had to say.” Dean stopped, willing himself to calm down. He would be calm. Breaking down was for later but to his surprise he could feel a pressure on his chest, his heart thundering. Fuck it. He dug in his nails sharply into his palms, savoring the pain.

“And are you ready now?”

Shrugging, Dean grabbed a pencil and started playing with it. “I don't know. I've been having these dreams. Every fucking night since... months back. I was fine in the beginning but then I started having, I don't know. Feels like my heart wants to go through my chest. I'm out of breath too. I've been there you know, the feeling of drowning and God, was that fucked up. I hated him for it, what Michael did to me but this feeling is worse. Almost as worse as... So my brother Sammy bullied me into doing this. I guess Jack did too, in a way. I made him a promise.”

The fluttering sound of pen on paper. “And what promise was that, Dean?”

“To keep on living.”

 

Dean looked at himself in the mirror. He had changed bedroom for the night, just to be sure. Room 37 had a bed, a wooden wardrobe and the mirror, nothing more and nothing less. He let his fingers run over the corded bracelet he wore. Pieces of tan fabric intertwined with a dark leather that Jack had found. He had read somewhere that texture was soothing or some bullshit like that. Maybe there was some truth in that; since sitting down one night when sleep had evaded him once more, he had made the bracelet and it adorned his wrist ever since.

Shuffling over to the bed, Dean stepped over the can of beer on the floor. He had ignored Jack's disapproving stare, he knew the kid wanted to be near him but sometimes he felt so... suffocated. All he wanted was some space. Sam's worry and silent question about how the therapy had gone was also a good reason to avoid the younger Winchester.

Are you afraid of the dark? Dean almost laughed but his stupid heart pounding brought him back. He tried to breathe like he always did, _You are getting air in your lungs, otherwise, you would've passed out, right?_ Well, thank you for those tips, Linda. His body might have received the memo about his lungs getting enough air, but his brain sure as hell didn't agree. After who knows how long, sleep finally took him.

“Dean, are you not exaggerating? Do we really need all these varieties?” Castiel raised an eyebrow at all the snacks laid out in bowls.

Ignoring Cas, Dean opened the mini-fridge, stocked with several kinds of beer, sodas, water. and juice. “There is never such a thing as too many snacks, Cas. The whole fucking point with snacks are the varieties. And the movies are like nine hours combined. Consider this lunch _and_ dinner. See, I stocked the fridge with that horrible vegetable juice you like.”

Sinking down in the soft couch, Cas patted the empty seat. “Come here, lover. And I thought you liked green juice.”

Dean rolled his eyes, a small bottle in hand. “I do like green juice. I just don't like _your_ green juice. I'm sorry Cas, but celery is not coming anywhere near my mouth.”

Cas grabbed some chips in his hand. “I'm surprised, you don't complain when I come in your mouth.” He took a chip and put it in his mouth, smiling as it made a crunchy sound.

“Very funny, Cas.” Dean eased down next to Cas, with a small bowl of gummy bears and some popcorn.

“Well, I learned from the best.” Cas grinned and the smile he gave Dean was radiant. He still felt his heart pound faster when Cas smiled at him, held his hand, or just did basically anything, from folding his clothes to making soup. Just the presence of Cas made Dean happy, and it was a revelation he had struggled with for years, that he deserved happiness. Now when everything was finally out in the open, Dean couldn't get enough of Cas, of them being together.

“I love you Cas.”

“Love you too, Dean.” Cas paused for a moment. “There is one thing I don't understand though. _Silmarillion_ is far better from my gathering of reading the books. I'm surprised they didn't make those into a movie.”

Chewing on some gummy bears, Dean just grumbled. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Cas. You have the remote, press play.”

Lunch consisted of a bag of chips, sandwiches and more gummy bears. Dean was leaning on Cas' shoulder while Cas carded his fingers through Dean's hair.

“I kind of understand the elves' reluctance to help the humans and their desire to escape the world.”

Dean hummed, his eyes still on the screen. “Oh. Why?”

“It's kind of how the angels were before. Secure in their knowledge of what they thought was right, thinking they knew better.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, you don't have to tell me about that. Although them being reluctant about being in the world. Fuck no, the whole deal with meddling with everything to get their way. Me and Sam...”

Cas' hand trailed down Dean's arm, grabbing his fingers and squeezing. “I know. I'm so sorry. There are so many things I wish would have been different, for all of us.”

Dean angled his body, turning to Cas. “Hey. We've been through shit these past years, and a lot of it has been... awful for a lack of better word. But in the end Sammy is still here, we have Jack, Jack that I frankly don't know what we did to deserve, and most importantly, I have you.”

Cas kissed him, his mouth on Dean, a tongue demanding entrance. As their kiss deepened, Dean sank down on the couch, Cas straddling him. “Mm, I think it's time for a different kind of entertainment.”

“I won't say no to that.” Enjoying Cas weight on top of him, Dean angled his head, allowing Cas to leave trails of kisses on his neck, continuing downwards.

Closing his eyes, Dean moaned when something changed. Cas suddenly felt heavier, and there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. When Dean opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness. “Cas?” Only silence greeted him. He tried to get up, but he couldn't move his arms or legs. The oppressing darkness was all around him, weighing him down.

His heart hammered in his chest and as he tried to open his mouth to call out for Cas again, he couldn't. Dean's jaws were forced shut, and the pressure on his chest was slowly increasing. Dean tried to inhale as deeply as he could, but all he could manage was shallow breaths. The darkness around him was almost palpable, the force pressing him down excruciating. Finally, something gave way. Dean managed to open his mouth and he screamed and screamed, but the only sound greeting his ears was silence.

 

“What's the deal with the waiting room? Do you actively try to get your patients to leave?”

Dr. Martin extended her hand with the steaming mug of coffee and Dean took it. “Oh, this building used to be old apartments, ancient really. The floors above me have been remodeled and changed according to today's standards and the floors below me are mostly offices and some stores on the ground floor. The plan is to renovate the waiting area in a couple of weeks.”

Sipping his hot coffee Dean sighed, content for the moment. He eyed her as she took out her little pen and pad again.

“Anything new you want to share with me, Dean?”

Putting the coffee down, Dean shrugged. The silence stretched on for a while. Dean knew that she was waiting him out, and he was grateful for it. “I noticed I didn't need to move the chair.”

Small wrinkles appeared around the doctors' eyes when she smiled. “It's a small thing to do, to give you comfort.”

Dean licked his lips. “I guess. Thank you. And no. Nothing new, but hey, at least I'm not trying to kill myself.” Dean tried to make it light, but he saw the way her mouth tightened.

“While I'm not under any professional obligation to report any of the... creature killings you have talked about – “

“They were monsters,” Dean said with a tired voice but he didn't bother to correct her. If she thought that he'd been running around killing stray cats and wolves in the woods so be it.

“Monsters. If you are having serious thoughts and plans to kill yourself, Dean, I have to report it.”

Taking another sip of coffee, Dean sighed and put the mug down. “I know. Don't worry about that. I've died enough times already. The problem doesn't go away when I come back, hell, most of the time me dying only made matters worse.”

“Are you worried about death and dying, Dean?” Her voice was calm and soft. It was a perfect voice, Dean thought, perfect for luring patients into a sense of safety and then kill them with her probing and prodding.

“Haven't tested you.” Dean burst out laughing. “You could be a shifter or vamp, or a pishtaco. You ever heard of a pishtaco before?”

Linda scrunched her face in confusion. “A fish-taco?”

“Yeah I know, that was the reaction I had. We were doing a case, me and Sammy. He had to pose as a freaking yoga teacher. Apparently, he knew some moves too.” Dean leaned back in the chair. “It's a monster from Peru, they are fat suckers, but this one was nice. A good monster. Who knew?”

Dean glanced at the clock on the wall and then looked at Linda again. “This feels nice you know. I can just tell you everything without worrying to slip up. And to answer your question. No, I'm not worried about death and dying. Jack is going to live for a long time, and when I die... I die.”

“How is your brother doing?”

Dean looked at her, slight surprise in his voice when he spoke. “He is fine. I don't know about fine, but he's not having the weird attacks or whatever. I mean, it's been a while so.”

“These feelings you are experiencing, they are panic attacks, Dean. A perfectly normal reaction to have.”

Dean played with a button on his shirt. “When has my life ever been normal?”

“You will find that most lives have snippets of extraordinary in them, and shades of darkness. Whatever you deem normal is just a facade. Life is one bead of experience stringed to another bead until they form a long chain and most pieces in there, just are. But now and again you get some extraordinary part, a bead that shines so bright it overwhelms you. And you can also get a piece that is so dark, that you are fooled into thinking that that darkness is all there is. It is a false notion.”

Dean grabbed a pen and started playing with it, tapping it restlessly on his thigh. “So what do I need to do to move past this bead? Just zapping it away would be nice.” Dean's lips twitched into a smile at that, his green eyes twinkling but then a thought flashed through his mind and the smile faded.

“Go back. Go and look at it. Acknowledge it's there.”

“Back to basics?”

Linda put down her pencil. “You can say that, yes, back to the basics. Don't run from it. Look at it. It's not like the notion of you hiding or running away will erase it, Dean. It hasn't worked so far has it?”

Suddenly Dean felt his chest tighten, and his throat lock up. “No. It hasn't.”

“And killing yourself again, you said it yourself, the problem will still be there when you... eh, come back?”

Letting out a deep sigh, Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I guess so. Billie would toss me back in a heartbeat.”

“Right. So, I'm not asking you to dive deep in, just try and go back and voice it somehow. You don't have to say it, or even talk to Sam and Jack about it. Think it, write it, even one sentence will do, about your feelings around it, or the event itself.”

“A journal?” Dean sounded skeptical.

“Sometimes it helps to write your feelings down. And if that makes you uncomfortable maybe try and just think it. The goal here is for you to get past these attacks and the nightmares you are having. To process them and not ignore them or what they mean. Your body and your mind are trying to tell you something, Dean.”

“Right.”

Dr. Linda Martin got up. “The session is over for this week. I will be out of office next week, but if you still want a meeting I can sign you up with Dr. Ellis? And if you have any questions, just call me. OK, Dean?”

Dean followed her as she guided him to the door. “I'm good, I can wait two weeks. Thanks.”

 

The following evening Dean was in one of the storage rooms in the Bunker when Sam entered. Dean could tell that Sam wanted to ask how the therapy was going but he was giving Dean what he assumed was “space”.

“Just spill it, man, I can see it on you.”

Sam grabbed a chair that was leaning against the wall and unfolded it. Sitting down with a heavy sigh, he looked at Dean. “You look horrible, Dean. You still can't sleep?”

“Uh, something like that.” He was not going to tell Sam, that he slept three, four hours per night if he was lucky. He was pretty sure Sam knew, but Dean was content with telling him that falling asleep was difficult, not that the real reason was that terrible feeling of pressure and darkness all around him. That he was afraid. Dean, former hunter, saving the world a million fucking times, afraid of shadows and darkness. It was so that he could laugh if he was sure that he wouldn't start crying instead.

“You know I'm here for you, right, Dean? I mis– “

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and squeezed before letting go. “I know you do, Sammy. And I know you are there for me, I really appreciate it.” Dean cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway, I'm just trying something new. Linda talked about going back to basics so that's what I'm doing.”

Sam looked at Dean and the items he was holding in his hands. Salt, a lighter, spices and several other items stuffed in his pockets, making his jeans pockets bulge.

“Are those – “

“Yeah. Back to basics, she said so that's what I'm doing.” He carefully put the items on the floor.

Sam cleared his throat. “Look, Dean, I'm not sure that is what Dr. Martin meant – ” Dean glared at Sam sharply before turning to face a shelf and Sam raised his hands in a placating gesture. “But if this will help, I say go for it.”

“Is Jack in the kitchen?” Dean was standing on his toes, trying to reach something on the top shelf.

Sam smiled. “Yeah, he said you are to watch _Frozen_ together so he's been making chili for the last couple of hours.”

“With the strong peppers and good meat?” Dean could feel his fingers brushing against something wooden and frail but as he tried to reach for it all he managed to do was push it farther in.

“Good meat. Strong peppers. Yeah, just how you like it.”

Letting out an annoyed sound, Dean exhaled. “Fuck it. Sammy, you grab that for me; use your long moose legs.”

Sam rolled his eyes but still did as Dean told him. He gave the item to Dean, betraying nothing with his face.

“Don't fucking say it, Sammy.” Dean bent down and picked up the rest of the things he had collected.

Sam carefully made his voice smooth, not trying to betray anything. “Why would I say anything, Dean? I don't know what you mean.”

Grabbing the dream catcher, Dean headed for the door. “Good! Tell Jack I'll be with him in ten minutes.”

 

Even hours after he and Jack had finished watching the movie, Dean could still feel a pleasant burn in his throat after the chili. Jack meant business when he said spicy but half of Dean's meal had consisted of beer so he thought he'd managed to escape the burn, but fuck was he wrong.

Room 24 had a mini fridge that Dean had had the foresight to fill so as soon as he closed the door behind him, he opened the fridge and pulled out the container of sour cream. A spoonful of that and soon his throat was singing thanks for the soothing feeling. One more big spoon of sour cream and then it was back to business.

Dean's thumb went over his bracelet again, the cloth and cord braid always with him. He brought it to his face, inhaled the scent. Fuck this, time to get started. He began by pouring salt near the door's threshold. Then he attached the dream catcher on the wall right below his bed. It looked like a flimsy twig and thread craft some kid had done for a school project but it was supposed to be the real deal.

The next step was to light a candle. From a drawer, Dean unwrapped the special sage that Rowena had given him. He didn't really question what was so special about it, but apparently, it was very potent. Lighting it immediately produced billowing smoke. He put the candle on the small table next to him. The lavender scent was too much but apparently, it was “beneficial”.

Dean went from corner to corner, waving extra hard while he mumbled the words Rowena had taught him and then smudged some over his forehead. He wrinkled his nose at the overpowering scent and hoped it would dissipate before he went to sleep. Next, he brought out a marker and drew sigils on his door-frame, warding off every kind of evil he could think off.

Dean's hand trembled when he finished the last sigil; the angel banishing one. Just in case. Angrily tossing the marker in a corner, Dean got undressed and looked under the carpet. The demon trap was intact. Sighing, he lay down in bed and looked at the candle. He was not sure if it was supposed to be lit or if he was to blow it out. Whatever. He let the candle burn and tried to find sleep.

 

After what Dean deemed no more than a few hours of sleep, he woke up to feather light touches on his arm, a finger gently caressing his wrist, pulling playfully at the bracelet.

“Where you been, Cas?”

Cas continued to caress Dean's arm and he felt the mattress buckle underneath Cas' weight as he lowered himself next to Dean.

“Around. I had to tie off some loose ends, but I did keep my promise.”

Dean put an arm around Cas and tugged him closer to his body, enjoying the heat of him. “Yeah, you'll always come when I call.”

Cas breathed a sigh, his body pressing harder against Dean's. “You need to stop calling me, Dean. Jack needs you. Sam needs you. You will have all of me in the end.”

Getting up into a seated position, Dean looked at Cas in confusion. He was about to ask Cas what he was on about when an invisible hand pushed him down. Dean tried to get up; this was a feeling he was all too familiar with but it was futile. His arms and legs refused to obey him. It was as if rocks were pressing on him, every part of his body slowly being crushed with each breath he tried to take. Slowly, agonizingly so, Dean turned his head to the side and saw the candle glowing faintly, the flame flickering rapidly this way and that, and then the flame went out.

_Look at me._

Not knowing what the fuck was going on with Cas, Dean knew one thing and that was that he had to get away somehow. He mustered up all the strength he had, willing his body to rise, but all that accomplished was a small twitch of his right index finger.

_Look at me._

Anger coursed through him, mixed with the acidic taste of fear on his tongue, and that pissed Dean of even more, but the fear refused to leave him. Old primal instincts overruled his thoughts, deciding that this was definitely a good time to be afraid, as adrenaline coursed through him. His heart beat against his chest, and there was an odd thumping noise in his ears.

_Look at me. Look at me. Look at me!_

“I'm looking, goddamn you!”

With a start, Dean was upright in his bed, breathing heavily. His shirt was clammy with sweat and he got up, turning the lights on in the room. With darkness gone nothing looked out of the ordinary. Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean walked over to the mini fridge, still on edge and grabbed a bear. He unscrewed it and took a sip. Turning around, he smashed the bottle on the floor.

“Goddamn it!”

 

Dean's footfalls were muted by the slippers he was wearing as he walked through the bunker's corridors. When he finally reached the door he was looking for he stopped. He let his fingers hover over the number 11 on the front, before taking a deep breath. Entering the room he closed the door with a soft click.

Everything looked the same. What a fucking joke the world was, mocking him with its normalcy. Everything was the same, and yet _nothing_ was the same. Slowly walking over to his bedside table, Dean opened the drawer and pulled out a cylinder tube. He held it in a tight grip and without even realizing, he slid down to the floor, his back against the bed frame.

It started somewhere deep within in him, from a place Dean didn't realize he had, but soon heavy sobs were wrecking him. His throat felt constricted, an awful pressure making it hard to breathe and tears blurred his vision. Dean let the tears fall, soaking his nightshirt and soon it transmuted to more. An awful keening sound escaped Dean's throat, and all the grief and sorrow he had refused to touch for months and months washed over him.

Dropping the cylinder tube, Dean hugged his knees and let the pain wash over him. The tube rolled down next to him, revealing the embossed lettering; C – A – S.

**Author's Note:**

> I talked to an actual therapist about the therapy parts and what Dean could say without Linda having to report it. With that said, any mistakes or inaccuracies are solely my own.


End file.
